Harry Potter and the Hall of Records
by ClimbofFaith
Summary: Voldemort has discovered a way to attain a power that will make him greater than ever before hidden in the words of an ancient prophecy. Harry Potter is suffering through the loss of his Godfather after the dreadful end to his fifth year. How will he cope with guilt? Will he be able to discover Voldemort's plan and stop him before the Dark Lord becomes unstoppable?
1. Prologue: The Ancient Prophecy

_A/N - The first 6 chapters of this story were posted a few years back under a different name before I lost the drive to keep writing. Let's try this again!_

**Prologue: The Ancient Prophecy**

* * *

At three o'clock in the morning, there were very few people out of bed and so it was rather unusual in a quiet town in the north of England to see a man striding purposefully and quickly as Turner Long was at that ungodly hour.

Turner Long was in no sense young. Grey hair cascaded around his face and down to his shoulders, and it was rather unkempt; as though he were a tramp or a beggar rather than a very comfortable, middle-class member of society as he proudly held himself. His grey eyes nearly matched his hair if not for the hint of blue that they still held as a shadow of a reminder of the youth that had left him so long ago. He moved with the grace and agility of one much younger than he, however; that might have had something to do with where he was going.

He pulled out the piece of paper and looked at it.

_Midnight. 21st of July. 169 St. Ferdinand Lane. _

Turner shook his head in revulsion of the memory. He had been minding his own business as he stepped out of the Leaky Cauldron and into the back where he was about to enter Diagon Alley for a bit of shopping – he was picking up his wife's birthday present. Two men in black robes and horrible masks had surrounded him and knocked him out and next thing he knew a man with white-blonde hair that he did not recognize told him to meet at the location he was heading to at the time allotted in the note if he wanted his family to live. He had been terrified.

Mr. Long made a habit of trying not to get involved in anything that invoked the ire of anybody. So it was with great shock that somebody would be looking for him.

As he rounded the corner, he saw a house that seemed to materialize out of nothing in the early morning, pitch black gloom.

The house was neither old nor new; neither extravagant nor shabby. It was really, well… quite ordinary. It was almost as if the owner had wanted the house to blend in and for no attention to be called to it; in fact, Turner could not a find a single memorable feature of the house. It was two stories yet the second story looked like it could contain an attic rather than living space. The windows and door were arranged almost symmetrically with two windows aligned equally on either side of the door. It didn't seem to hold a distinct color either. The house was a grayish, forgettable hue of no color at all and was distinctly not intriguing in any sense.

He walked cautiously up to the house taking notice in the fact that nobody seemed to be home. The lights were extinguished and it was completely silent. The silence was rather unnerving and Turner Long, although not possessing any real talent in dueling, grabbed his wand in the inside pocket of his black robes.

He took a deep breath and then knocked twice on the thick wooden door that looked as though it weighed a ton.

At first there was no answer and he tried again; still no answer. As he reached up to knock a third time a bit more frantically, the door swung inwards and he nearly fell over; his momentum had been leaning towards the door. A man spoke out of the shadows and he recognized the voice. It was the voice of the white-blonde haired man who had captured him before at Diagon Alley.

"Come in," the man said. "We've been waiting for you."

Turner opted not to speak and settled for a nod as he followed the man down a shadowy hall and into a dimly lit room with a long ovular table full of black robed men and a few women judging by their respective builds.

"Ah, Mr. Long," drawled a high, clear voice coming from the end of the table nearest the fireplace. His back was to Turner and he faced the fire lit in the grate. "Thank you for joining us. Please have a seat."

The man at the end of the table who was speaking indicated a chair directly across from him at the other end of the oblong table. Obediently, Turner sat down.

"Excuse me sir, but, who are you and why exactly - why am I here?" asked Turner when no one spoke for a few moments.

"It is your knowledge that I seek, Mr. Long," said the man directly across from him. He spun around to face Turner who recoiled in shock. "And as for my name," he chuckled humorlessly. "I am Lord Voldemort."

Turner Long shuddered at the sound of the name and looked in shock across the table as the monster sat down in the chair facing his guest.  
"But… So the papers were… Harry Potter was right," he said with a tone between horror and question. "I thought you were dead," he added hopefully, and so quietly that he didn't think he would be heard.

"And I was close," Voldemort agreed allowing a perfectly calculated dramatic pause, "but just not."

"Well I'm not helping you," said Turner rather bravely for how he felt. "I won't stand for the dark arts."

"Yes," said Voldemort icily. A shiver ran down Turner's back. "I wondered if you would show some courage - the best always do. But let's not fool ourselves Mr. Long. After all, your life isn't the only one in danger. It would be such a pity, really," continued Voldemort enjoying every second of his carefully planned coercion. "Tim and Jessica are lovely children."

Turner's eyes flew up to Voldemort in fear. "No," he said weakly, already broken. "My… not my grandchildren."

"Then I suggest you tell me what I want to know," hissed Voldemort every bit of his initially kind attitude completely absent.

"And what is it that you want to know?" asked Turner trembling with fear. He couldn't see how he would make it out of this situation.

Hopefully helping this madman would save his family. And maybe he could still resist Voldemort. Maybe he could give Voldemort the wrong information, or pretend he didn't know. Turner didn't fancy himself as an actor but he had to try.

"I understand that you are aware of the contents of a certain prophecy made thousands of years ago by an old seer by the name of Pythia. Do you know the prophecy of which I speak?"

Turner's eyes widened in surprise before he collected himself and shook his head in denial. Voldemort laughed cruelly.

"Lord Voldemort does not like it when people lie to him, and he _always_ knows when someone is _lying_ to him. Would you like to see what Lord Voldemort does to those who do not reply when spoken to?

Turner shook his head weakly but it was no use.

"_Crucio!_" said Voldemort caressing the words as if he had uttered a sweet nothing to a dearly beloved.

Turner toppled off of his chair and to the ground where he writhed completely immersed within the most excruciating pain he had ever felt in his life. Just when he was ready to call it quits and was wishing his life would end, the pain relented.

"That, Mr. Long, is just a taste of what I do to those who are resistant to obedience. Would Tim and Jessica like that curse, do you think?"  
"Okay, Okay!" cried Turner upset with himself that he had caved so easily. But he could not endanger his grandchildren. It was really a decision he had no choice in. He had to do whatever this mad man told him.

He had hoped, even when the Daily Prophet had confirmed Harry Potter and Albus Dumbledore's claims that you-know-who was back, that they were all mistaken. He had not truly believed that the monster could have returned… and now the evidence was pointing death in his direction.

"Now you see it correctly, Mr. Long. Tell me, what are the contents of said "ancient" prophecy?"

Turner Long looked uneasily at Voldemort. Something about the greed in Lord Voldemort's eyes made him certain that divulging the prophecy would do far more harm than he could imagine. He had heard it from his grandfather when he was a young man and his grandfather, Arthur, laid on his deathbed. The fading man had told him to pass the prophecy on to someone he trusted to keep it safe – only one person. Turner had done this shortly after he had learned of the prophecy; he had told the greatest wizard he knew so that he no longer had to carry the burden.

His grandfather had passed a treasured prophecy made by his distant grandmother who had been the Greek oracle, Pythia. She was one of the earliest seers in recorded history. It was Turner Long's sole claim to fame. Turner was oblivious to what part of the prophecy would be beneficial to Lord Voldemort. Personally he thought it was a bunch of old hogwash that was one of his ancestor's mistakes. However, with the life of his grandchildren on the line…

The old man drew a deep, steadying breath, the after effects of the cruciatus curse still wearing off, and began the lines he would only grudgingly admit he had learned by heart.

"_In the distant abyss of a future yet unknown, will be there a wild power which only the great may conquer. And if mastered, the power of the world and the balance of life and death itself will fill the hand of the master to be used at his disposal. The Atlantian secret lies in the chamber. Amongst those well buried and nigh forgotten; in record neglected and thought disposed"_

Turner Long opened the eyes he had not realized he had closed as he recited the prophecy. Lord Voldemort smiled evilly at him.

"There, now that wasn't so bad was it?" asked Lord Voldemort in a mockingly sweet voice.

He refrained from answering the question and instead asked, "May I leave now? Lord," he added as an afterthought. Perhaps politeness could save his life?

Lord Voldemort let out a high pitched laugh that sounded, in Turner's opinion, more like finger nails scraping across a blackboard than a laugh.  
"And let you tell the world what Voldemort had asked of you? I think not."

"But I - but I d-did as you said, I gave you the prophecy!" cried Turner beginning to panic. He had dared to hope, if only for a short time, that he could escape death.

"Yes, you did and for that I will spare your family. Now look at me," ordered Voldemort.

He looked up and heard Voldemort say calmly, though with a knot of excitement in his voice, _Avada Kedavra_.

Turner Long was dead before he hit the floor.

"I will spare your family for now," amended Voldemort without a trace of remorse in killing the man now lying unmistakably deceased in front of him.

"Lucius!" said Voldemort snapping his gaze to the white-blonde haired man that had brought Turner to him.

"Yes, my lord?" asked Malfoy solemnly.

"Please escort Mr. Long from the premises."

"Yes, my lord," said Lucius Malfoy with a touch of disgust in his voice. He silently levitated the body of the old man and followed it as it floated along a few feet above the ground until he rounded the corner into the atrium and vanished out of sight.

"McNair," said Voldemort turning to the robed man closest to him.

"Yes, my lord," he asked breathlessly.

"I need you to head up half of our numbers and search for information about Atlantis."

"Yes, my lord," he responded obediently.

He whisked out of the room and ten or so robed men and a woman followed him.

Voldemort turned to the remaining people in the room.

"Redmond, what is the update on Potter's location?"

"It is still very general," said a man with a rather deep booming voice sitting a few seats down from Voldemort that were recently vacated by those who had followed McNair out of the room.

"Dumbledore has done a good job masking where he is. He is still receiving protection of some kind and it isn't linked to the Fidelius Charm."  
Voldemort slammed his pearly white fist down on the stone table before him scowling deeply.

"Potter will be mine, with or without your incompetence!" growled Voldemort.

"_Crucio_," Voldemort hissed and pain exploded through the man called Redmond's body as he twisted and turned as if trying hopelessly to find some exit from the excruciating pain he was intoxicated by.

Voldemort laughed his high-pitched, terrible-sounding laughter once more and, hundreds of miles away, a boy woke up screaming.

* * *

"Boy will you keep that bloody racket down!" shouted a very irritated Uncle Vernon through the door at Harry who had just shot awake, drenched in a cold sweat.

"Sorry, Uncle Vernon," he called half-heartedly not really sorry at all. He was disturbed by the dream he had just had. If it was true, and he had an idea that it might be, Voldemort, though only recently out in the open, had a plan to achieve power beyond what he already had. Harry racked his brains trying to remember all of the details of his dream. His groggy state and confused mind were acting as a sieve… but going the wrong way.

It was a useless effort to try to remember the prophecy in full. The words slipped like water through cupped hands – trapped only briefly, and soon gone without a trace. By the time he had truly woken up, all he could remember was that Voldemort had a plan. He had a plan to be greater and more powerful than ever before, Harry shuddered as the words of his prophecy echoed in his was up to Harry to fight him - the safety of the world was on Harry's shoulders.

_The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches…_ The words resounded in Harry's head like some dark, formidable gong – drenching him in overtones of panic and fright. He had always known he would fight Voldemort – even that it was his duty to fight Voldemort.

But he had never thought – never really believed – that he would be the one to _kill_ the madman! If he really considered it, he had always assumed somewhere deep in his mind that Dumbledore would conquer Voldemort just as he had done to Grindelwald in the infamous duel in 1945. Harry had always assumed he would be there – a sidekick? An equal of Dumbledore's? But the final blow was never his to give.

And now it was. It was completely and unequivocally his to give. No one else could do the deed that now pressed on Harry's shoulders like skies on Titan's back. He had to kill Voldemort with some great power that had so far manifested itself in Harry's ability to make every situation worse than it needed to be. Harry was caught somewhere between fear, determination, and resignation. He would not let Voldemort hurt any more of his loved ones, but he was terrified that his friends would be used against him - just like Sirius had been.

Sirius face uncontrollably fought it way to the front of Harry's mind and he had to force himself to halt the flood of grief and guilt before it started. He had been down _that_ train of thought far too often this summer and it showed. Harry's appetite had all but passed away with his Godfather, and the gaunt, starved look that tackled Harry's features were ironically reminiscent of his Godfather shortly after the man had escaped Azkaban. Harry was simply not taking care of himself. He knew it, but he couldn't bring himself to care. He would survive – he always seemed to – but to really live was too much for him at the moment.

He snorted sardonically to himself as the images of Ron and Hermione popped up in his head. They would be furious with his present state. Ron would probably offer some concerned comment while Hermione would scoff at him for not trying to take better care of himself. It made Harry feel slightly better to think that his friends would worry about him, which immediately made him feel worse. It was in this disarray of thoughts that he sunk back into an uneasy sleep, but instead of slipping into Voldemort's mind, or a nightmare, he had an even more disturbing dream.

_He was in a room, a pit more aptly, and it was barren of all but smooth stone. The stone was unpolished and dull, but almost had a shiny, waxed appearance. There was no light to shine off of it, however, the light was flat, dim, and depressing. In the middle of the room knelt a man, Robes tattered, hair cascading over his face. He looked vaguely familiar to Harry, but Harry couldn't see him well enough to identify him. The whole dream had an imagined quality about it; as if every time Harry tried to focus on a detail, it would blur out of sight. A thick mist rose up and clouded his vision, and his dream faded to black._


	2. Leaving Privet Drive

It had been nearly a month since Harry had arrived back on Privet Drive. Not much had changed. Sirius was dead – he had accepted the fact. However, accepting it had not made him feel any less hollow than he had before. His days alternated between an excruciating state of pain and the hollow relief of feeling numb. His nights were plagued with horrible dreams - dreams where Sirius blamed Harry for his death; where his friends were killed before his eyes; where their accusing eyes seemed to puncture holes in his soul. The fact that Harry blamed himself for Sirius' death and constantly worried about the danger his friends were in made his nights even worse.

How had everything come crashing down so quickly? Was it so long ago that he had talked with his godfather in the Gryffindor fire, plotting to secretly circumvent the ministry's wish to avoid the teaching of Defense against the Dark Arts? Had it been so long ago that Sirius was bounding around Grimmauld place singing 'God Rest Ye' Merry Hippogriffs?' Had it been so long ago that the worst Harry had to deal with was an OWL? Now the prophecy. His stomach constricted painfully, and he turned to lay on his back, staring at the ceiling blankly.

Many weeks worth of Daily Prophets carpeted the floor, their headlines getting progressively more pessimistic. Lord Voldemort had returned with a vengeance, and seemed to be trying to make sure muggles and wizards alike were aware.

It had started off as a small attack every few days – a test run of the maniacal fury that marked Voldemort's scheming now. The madman wanted to cause as much horror as possible, and he was succeeding. There was at least an attack a day on a muggle family, not to mention the occasional merciless wizard family slaying.

Harry had stopped reading the Prophet altogether, it made him sick – especially when he knew _he_ was at fault. These deaths were on _his_ watch, just like Sirius.

Accompanying the prophets, a growing pile of letters lay by Harry's bed. The letters his friends sent him were a lifeline. His heart clenched with guilt - he hadn't written back anything more than the status updates that Moody had requested. Writing a letter saying that he was fine to the Order at large was one thing, but lying directly to his friends, to Mrs. Weasley, or to Remus Lupin was something he couldn't bear. They deserved so much better than his treatment of them. Not for the first time, Harry wondered why they seemed so determined to help him. Couldn't they see he was a danger to everyone who got close to him? Didn't they see what happened to Sirius?

Harry's clock flashed six o'clock. Light was diluting the black of night into a deep blue, lightening in hue with time. Harry sighed, rolled out of bed and stood up. He felt so constrained, so helpless - he had to do something useful. He grabbed the only pair of athletic shoes he had, dressed, and left the house, breaking into a jog as soon as he hit the sidewalk. He had no idea how far he could run, but exertion sounded blissful at the moment.

He ran past the park by Wysteria Walk and into town before running back. A few people looked at him strangely as he ran by, and he could hear a couple mutter something about "That Potter Boy." Harry didn't care - he even smiled at a few of them. The run made him feel clean – something he hadn't felt since before Sirius had died. It was liberating, and by the time he stopped outside of Number Four Privet Drive, he felt better and happier than he had in months. Granted, the skies were still gloomy in the world of Harry Potter, but the rain had stopped falling.

He jogged to the driveway of the Dursleys house and turned into the path through the front garden before the sight of someone very familiar at his door made his heart drop. Kingsley Shacklebolt was standing outside of his front door wearing, thankfully, muggle clothing. Harry felt a pang of sadness. Seeing Kingsley brought him back to reality - the one where Sirius was gone and Voldemort wanted him dead.

He strode up to the front door silently. He nodded at Kingsley in greeting but did not speak.

"Please sit down, Harry," said the tall auror in his booming bass, gesturing to the small elevated platform before the front door. Harry obeyed and the auror sat down next to him.

"Where did you go this morning?" asked Kingsley kindly.

"I went for a run," said Harry feeling more uncomfortable by the second.

"Exercise is a good way to order one's thoughts," agreed Kingsley evenly. He sounded like Dumbledore.

Harry nodded, not sure what to say.

"However; I must ask you to stay nearer to your home. The wards do not extend as far as you ran, and we wish to keep you as protected as possible."

Harry nodded again. "Sorry."

"Not to worry," replied Kingsley.

"I'm going to go in now," said Harry awkwardly when it seemed Kingsley had nothing more to say. The man nodded and got up.

"Do try to enjoy your holiday, Harry," suggested Kingsley with a trace of sadness in his voice. Harry nodded as he opened the front door and slipped inside thankful to escape the conversation.

Kingsley shook his head staring at the door that had just closed where Harry had entered the house. Harry Potter was not doing well.

* * *

Several more weeks passed without another incident. Harry did as he was told – never strayed too far from the Dursley's house. His letters to the order were still unsettlingly short – they were nearly identical each time they arrived. The Weasleys in particular were getting very worried about their raven-haired friend who they had come to call family.

"I just can't understand why he won't reply to our letters!" Ginny had burst angrily following another one-line notification of well-being from Harry. The faces of her family seated about the breakfast table in the kitchen of Grimmauld Place reflected similar sentiments, although only Ginny displayed anger.

"He's struggling, Ginny. You guys have had each other to talk through Sirius - through what happened in June," said Lupin warily from the end of the table. A grimace of sadness shot across his face at the mention of his late friend.

Ron looked at Ginny worriedly. They had talked late into the night on many occasions this summer through what had happened. He couldn't disagree that just being able to talk about his feeling had helped a lot. Ron had been getting flashes of random memories that he had to attribute to the Brain Incident as he had come to call it. It had been unsettling, but the flashes were fewer and further between and the scars had almost completely faded from his arms.

No one could think of an adequate reply to this for a few moments. Finally, Mrs. Weasley broke the silence. "I'll speak to Professor Dumbledore tomorrow about getting Harry away from those muggles."

There was a general murmur of assent from the table.

"He has changed a bit though," added Tonks after a lengthy stretch filled with only cutlery scraping plates. At Mrs. Weasley's alarmed look she raised her hands in a placating gesture. "Not in a bad way. Ever since Kingsley saw him that day he left the wards, he's been running every morning. He hasn't missed one. I think it helps him clear his mind – he always seems to have a bit more life after his runs."

"Well that's something," agreed Mrs. Weasley with a heavy heart.

* * *

Harry woke up late on the morning of July 31st. It was strange that he had been allowed to sleep in. Although the Dursleys, true to their word that they would not make Harry's life miserable, had not forced him to do chores, they nearly always found a reason to keep him from sleeping in. Harry put on his glasses and stretched luxuriously. He had not had a single nightmare the previous night for the first time in what seemed like months; no dying Sirius, no laughing Voldemort… he was actually in quite an upbeat mood for some unexplained reason.

He threw on a pair of jeans, a t-shirt, and his old trainers, tucked his wand into his pocket, and headed downstairs. As he turned towards the kitchen at the bottom of the stairs, the hair on the back of his neck stood up. Instantly alert, he drew his wand and headed to the nearest window to peer outside. Privet Drive was quiet as ever. Nobody had left the refuge of their homes because of the oppressive heat outside – the discomfort of the scorching air was not worth the feeble reward of summer sunshine. Cars sat gleaming in their driveways while the lawns beside them had long since withered to brown. Window's were left open in several houses, and Number 5 even had a large, caged fan propped in a downstairs window to blow what Harry assumed would be quite a pleasant breeze into the house.

Nothing appeared out of order. Harry briefly wondered if he was getting paranoid before he shrugged and turned to continue on, as he originally had planned, into the kitchen. His progress was halted immediately by the gelatinous form of his Uncle Vernon. He backed away and looked up at his Uncle's face who was still several inches taller than him. It was blotched red with fury.

"What in the blazes of hell do you think you're doing with that thing out?" growled Uncle Vernon furiously.

"I thought I felt -" he began to explain, hastily stowing his wand back in his pocket.

"There are no freaks in Little Whinging except you," spat Uncle Vernon.

There was a crash outside, and Harry whipped his wand out and peered outside.

The sight of Harry pulling out his wand unhinged Uncle Vernon who exploded into one if his trademarked rants.

"HOW DARE YOU," roared his uncle. Seeming to realize how loud he was and glancing uneasily out of his window to check for observant neighbors, he continued, "you're not allowed to do… to do _that_ outside of school. Don't test me, boy."

"Don't test you?" growled Harry, fury igniting in his chest. It was like a tidal wave that took him off guard, and he couldn't avoid letting the words spill form his mouth. "Don't test you? I have been putting up with your…"

"YOU UNGRATEFUL LITTLE…" roared Uncle Vernon, cutting Harry short. Harry had snapped. He had found an outlet for his depression and frustration and was feeding every ounce of it into his rage at his uncle. Logic screamed in Harry's mind, telling him to drop the argument before it could start in earnest. Harry was beyond reason.

"UNGRATEFUL," Harry shouted back. "That's rich. I seem to remember living under the stairs for eleven years."

"Get out," hissed Uncle Vernon venomously. "Get out now."

As quickly as he had gotten riled up, Harry came crashing back down to earth. What had he done? He couldn't leave Privet Drive… he had to stay – Dumbledore had said it was critical for his protection. With Voldemort being so active, Harry worried about what could happen if he left. His uncle was slowly advancing on him, with his fists raised slightly. Harry stepped back nervously.

"NOW," demanded Uncle Vernon. He gestured wildly up the stairs. "GO COLLECT YOUR BLOODY BIRD AND GET OUT OF MY HOUSE!"

"Uncle Vernon… I" Harry tried to reason. Uncle Vernon was beyond anything but his rage however. With a wild roar he swung his fist violently at Harry's head who ducked just in time. He snaked around Uncle Vernon and ran upstairs, packing his trunk as fast as he could. He threw everything he could inside, hesitating only over the stack of letters and daily prophets by his bed. They would do him no good now. He kicked them under his bed, hoping his aunt and uncle wouldn't see them and rushed over to Hedwig's cage. She looked at him sharply.

"I made a mistake girl, we have to go. Can you fly to Grimmauld Place?" asked Harry quickly.

Harry opened the door to her cage, and she flew out, across his room and out the window, swooping low over Vernon's car before heading off into the horizon. From downstairs, Harry heard a booming voice shout, "BLOODY BIRD!"

He grabbed his trunk and Hedwig's empty cage and began hauling them to the stairs. Vernon's face appeared at the bottom. "OUT NOW!"

"My trunk," Harry explained as to his slow speed. His trunk was very heavy and he couldn't move too fast with it.

"Then do some bloody magic," his Uncle hissed. "You have ten seconds to be out of my house."

Harry's eyes widened in alarm. He had never seen his uncle in a rage like this, and he, for the first time since finding out he was a wizard, feared for his safety in his relatives' house.

"One," counted Vernon holding up a porky finger. "Two."

"All right!" shouted Harry down the stairs. He shrunk his trunk and Hedwig's cage, put of weightless charm on them and placed them in his pocket as he ran down the stairs. His uncle's eyes had bugged out at the flagrant use of magic in his house.

"HOW DARE YOU SOIL MY HOME WITH THIS…" roared Vernon swinging again at Harry as he scampered out the door. As Harry reached the path heading to the sidewalk he heard his uncle shout, "DON'T BOTHER RETURNING. YOU ARE NO LONGER WELCOME HERE!"

An earthshaking boom like the collapse of some gigantic skyscraper rattled the windows of every house on Privet Drive. A howl of fury came from his uncle in Number four at the sound. Harry ran as fast as he could. He didn't know where he was going or what he was going to do. All he knew was that he wanted to be as far away from Privet Drive as he could possibly be. He could have sworn he heard someone curse as he ran out shortly followed by the unmistakable sound of disapparition, but he kept running; through several streets, through the park and finally into a large open field surrounded by several groves of trees. He slowed to a jog and then to walk before coming to a complete stop in the middle of the field.

What was he going to do? He no longer had the protection of the Dursleys. That had to have been what the giant 'boom' was when he left. His uncle kicking him out must have been for good. Harry felt sure that his mother's protection was no longer with him in the form of blood wards around his aunt's house. He thought he could feel it – he felt alone. Out in the middle of the field with a shrunken trunk and cage and no real means of contacting anyone; he sat down before he could work himself into panic.

He sat in the center of that field for several minutes barely moving at all. What should he do? If the wards were down, chances were that he could be found by Voldemort who had become active with the news broadcast publicly that he had returned. He also was pretty sure that the Order of the Phoenix would have an easier time finding him if he didn't move. At the very least, Harry knew he would be better off if he found refuge in one of the groves of trees surrounding the field he sat in. Choosing the nearest one a few hundred yards from him, he got up and began walking towards the grove.

As he walked, he berated himself. How could he have been so stupid as to let his uncle get to him? His uncle was a petty man who fancied himself as nothing more than an over-sized bully. How could Harry have been so stupid as to pick a fight with the man who could ruin all of the protection he had? The whole situation he found himself in was his fault and he knew it.

As Harry reached the halfway point to the trees, he was bathed in a fresh wave of unease. It was a general sense of foreboding – the hair on the back of his neck stood up in warning and he had the keen feeling that he was being watched. He picked up his pace, all but running into the cover of the grove of trees. He didn't make it.

Before he had taken three steps, several pops shattered the silence all around him. For the briefest of seconds, hope rose in him. He thought the order members had found him first, but it was not to be.

He stopped walking and spun around to face his foes. No less than seven Death Eaters surrounded him, moving into a circle, wands drawn and pointed at his chest. Harry's wand was still in his pocket, glaringly missing from his hand. Harry silently kicked himself for not keeping it in his hand at the ready. Not that he thought he could take on seven death eaters by himself, but he would have a much better chance with a wand than without one.

The circle faced him at the center, all twenty feet or so from him. One Death Eater stood a bit closer and appeared to be the leader of this group. A few seconds later, she ripped off her mask, and Harry could see why. Bellatrix Lestrange stood smiling maniacally at him, her wand pointed at his heart.

"Potter," she snarled. Harry had a brief flash of gratitude that she had not adopted her mocking, baby-talk voice that she relished in using in the Department of Mysteries before realizing who was standing there. Sirius' cousin, his _killer,_ was standing right in front of him. In a movement faster than his foes had anticipated, Harry's wand was drawn and pointed directly back at the wretched woman. All of the Death Eaters in the circle flinched as if they wanted to fire spells at the boy. A furious, quelling look from Lestrange quieted their reaction.

"Going to fight, Potter?" asked Bellatrix Lestrange mockingly, now back in the baby voice she loved so much. "Going to take down all of us with your grandiose power? Is that your plan? Is it, Itty baby Potter?"

"Well I've beaten Voldemort…" spat Harry. Several gasps rang out through the circle. "What is it… five times now? I've only had to duel him once." Harry wasn't thinking anymore. He was talking, hoping to delay long enough for help to arrive. At the very least, maybe he could infuriate the Death Eater's enough into making a mistake. So far, his tactic appeared to be working. Bellatrix Lestrange was looking at him with some mixture of revulsion and rage. Harry felt better taunting them. It was something he could control – the only thing he could control.

"You dare speak his name?" shrieked Bellatrix.

"It's true you know," replied Harry just as venomously. "I have beaten your so-called _master_…"

"Enough!" shouted Bellatrix. "You may have gotten lucky several times, Potter, but luck cannot beat the Dark Lord. You shall die just as your parents died all those years ago – easily at the hands of -"

"If he could beat me so easily, why did he send seven of you to get me?" asked Harry almost amusedly. He knew there was a very good chance he was about to die or be taken to Voldemort and then die. Panic had not set in yet – he felt more relaxed than he had in a few months. Mocking the Death Eaters made him feel like his out-of-control life was firmly back in his grasp. He grimaced at this line of thinking - he hoped the Order would arrive soon.

Bellatrix didn't even bother responding. "_Crucio._"

Harry was taken by surprise. He hadn't expected her to last out so quickly, but now he was on the ground in more pain than pain could imagine offering. He jerked uncontrollably in vain effort to dispel the burning and stabbing taking place inside his body; inside his heart. She held the curse for longer. Harry gasped for breath, fighting to keep his head clear. The pain was so great he was dangerously close to blacking out. If he passed out, he knew all was lost, he had to stay awake. And finally, it was over. She lifted her wand slowly, sneering evilly at him.

"Feel better Potter?" she sneered. "Think your tongue can be held?"

Harry didn't answer. Instead he stood back up, shakily albeit, and turned to face Bellatrix, his wand pointed at her heart. She raised hers again. Whatever she had expected of him, it wasn't continued defiance. The action seemed to enrage her more.

Harry was getting desperate. The Order had not arrived yet, and he was sure that Bellatrix was probably ready to stop playing with her food and just take him in to Voldemort. Harry was sure the only reason he was not yet dead was that Voldemort ordered the Death Eaters to keep him alive. He knew he needed to act now – to try to escape and hope for the best.

Harry saw, as if in slow motion, Bellatrix flick her wand. The beginning of the incantation '_crucio'_ was at her lips. The motion finished and the spell charged at Harry, but he was no longer there. He had dived to the right missing the spell by inches. He rolled to his feet, rapidly stunned the Death Eater in front of him, and threw up a shield charm and ran as fast as he could hoping it would hold, darting erratically to make himself a harder target to hit. The light of the spells whizzing by him, got closer and closer, until finally, he felt his body straighten, his arms snap to his side, and he crashed into the ground face first. Blood dripped down the side of his head where it had hit a rock and cut open.

He was soon surrounded again and roughly kicked over to face Bellatrix again. Harry gained a small measure of satisfaction when he saw that she was absolutely spitting with rage and panting heavily. He had surprised her.

"Thought you could escape the power of the Dark Lord and his followers?" she shrieked looking positively insane now. "_Crucio_."

If Harry had thought the cruciatus curse had been bad before, it couldn't compare to being subjected to it in a full body-bind. Harry wished vainly that he could die. Praying for any separation from the pain he was in. It ended faster than it had before this time. He lay panting for breath. He could move again, however; the cruciatus curse seemed to have broken the body bind he was in. He got up, very slowly to his feet.

"Gryffindor courage and all that," sneered Harry with as much force as he could muster upon seeing Lestrange's furious look at Harry's movement.

"Worthless, Potter," she responded. "Just like your mutt of a Godfather, you are too arrogant, vain, and stupid to be allowed to live."

Fury had filled Harry to the very core. "Don't you _dare_ say his name," he growled.

Bellatrix looked delighted. "Does it bother you, Potter? Does it bother you that he's dead?" she said the word with relish. Harry's stomach squirmed with anger and agony. "Does it bother you that I _killed _him?"

Harry's anger mounted beyond what it had ever been before. He wanted all of the Death Eater's away from him, and suddenly, they were. An explosion had swept out of Harry blasting his foes back several tens of feet. As they struggled to regain footing. Harry knocked several out.

"_Stupefy! Stupefy!_" he shouted knocking the two closest to him out of the way. As the Death Eaters got to their feet, several spells went whizzing by Harry, dangerously close. He wasn't going to make it to cover in time. He turned to fight – it was his only option. He had to fight and pray that the order would arrive very shortly. Bellatrix Lestrange would not underestimate him again.

"_Stupefy! Stupefy! Stupefy!_" shouted Harry shooting several stunning spells in quick succession. One Death Eater went down. The other two had yet to be revived. Four Death Eaters now faced him, Bellatrix in the lead. She fired the cruciatus curse at him which he dodged. Firing a stunner back, he dove out of the way of several nasty-looking, orange-colored spells fired his way. He tried to regain his footing, but could not do so quickly enough.

"_Inflixium Magnus!_" Shouted two of the Death Eater's simultaneously. Harry could not dodge either spell. They came at him, glowing orange like the ones he had just avoided. They slammed into him with the force of a van and he went sprawling backwards through the air. He was uncomfortably aware of the fact the several of his ribs had just cracked loudly. He landed on his back hard and heard several more cracks. He screamed in pain, but that only made his torso hurt worse. It was aching all over and stabbing him in pain upon every movement. Each breath was like a knife into his lungs, but he had to keep fighting. He had to get up. Shouts of joy could be heard from the Death Eater's whose spells had hit Harry. The four remaining Death Eaters drew slowly up to Harry, Bellatrix still leading the pack, the others forming a 'V' behind her, like birds in flight.

Harry pushed himself up screaming in pain the whole time. He tried to raise his wand but pain clouded his every move. Bellatrix was faster. _Crucio._

Harry collapsed. He couldn't even scream, or at least he didn't think so. The pain was just too great. He couldn't stay awake. He couldn't stay alive. It wasn't worth it. And then it was over. The pain had gone, but he could still open his eyes. He looked up to find the four standing Death Eater's all with their backs to him. Harry looked on in confusion. What was going on.

And then he heard it. 'Pops' and cracks were reverberating around the field. The Order of the Phoenix had arrived, and, by the sound of how many were apparating in, the Death Eater's were horribly outnumbered. They summoned their fallen comrades to them and disapparated away.

The appearing figures rushed up to Harry, Remus Lupin in the lead.

"Harry! Harry? Are you all right?" shouted Lupin.

"Professor Lupin," he gasped in pain.

"You'll be all right, lad," he said calmingly. The Order members were surveying the scene with awe. The field was demolished, earth was thrown everywhere from spells ripping it apart. The section if the field where Harry had blasted the Death Eaters away was nothing more than a barren and black circle a hundred feet across now. Dust hung in the air in the mid-day sun like some sort of deafening fog.

"Uncle Vernon…" gasped Harry. "He kicked me out…" It was getting hard to stay awake. Breathing alone was sapping Harry of energy.

"Albus," called Lupin worriedly. He had just noticed Harry's considerable injuries. "Albus, he's hurt!"

Dumbledore strode out of the crowd of people quickly. "What happened to him?"

Remus looked down at Harry who was fighting to keep his eyes open. "Harry what happened to you?" he asked quietly. The boy didn't look good. He was gasping for breath. Lupin drew his wand, vanished Harry's shirt and gasped. Huge bruises were covering Harry's torso, and several ribs were conspicuously broken. Lupin could see them at unusual angles through his skin. Blood dripped from a cut on Harry's head, and he was sure that the boy had been subjected to the cruciatus curse – it was a favorite of Bellatrix Lestrange who appeared to be leading the Death Eater's before she had disapparated away.

"Albus," said Lupin weakly. "We need to get him out of here. He's in bad shape. Call Poppy?"

"Take him to Headquarters," agreed Dumbledore gravely. The headmaster picked up a stick lying on the ground, tapped it with his wand and muttered '_portus_.' He handed it to Lupin who grabbed Harry gently.

"It will take you into the front hall. The landing will hurt him but it's the best method of getting him there. Apparating could crush his ribs." Dumbledore had seen Harry's torso. The boy had certainly put up a fight. A small bit of pride leaked into Dumbledore's tightly controlled mind. The boy had put up an admirable fight.

He looked down to see Remus Lupin explaining to Harry that they were about to take a portkey to headquarters. He saw Harry nod weakly. A few seconds later, the pair had disappeared.

Harry closed his eyes tight as the portkey jumped them to London. He had a short glimpse of the high-ceilinged entry way to Grimmauld Place before he hit the floor, still lying on his back. He screamed in pain which awoke the portrait of Mrs. Black. She began screaming as well. The cacophony of voices drew the residents of the house to the entryway.

Stars danced in Harry's eyes. He couldn't breathe. He was having trouble seeing. A faint ringing was filtering into his ears. His eyes fluttered closed and then open again. Several red-headed figures ran into the room. He heard one of them gasp in shock and then he passed out. The pain had overtaken him.


	3. Healing

**Chapter 2: Healing**

Ron and Ginny sat quietly in the drawing room under the guise that they were attempting to complete their summer homework. Neither was getting much done. Their thoughts were on their raven-haired friend, as had been the case for the last day and a half since he had arrived.

Ron couldn't get the image of his best friend, beaten, bloody, and lying on the floor if the front hall gasping in pain out of his head. Harry always seemed so resilient; even after he had witnessed You-Know-Who return. This summer seemed different, however. Harry had scarcely responded to a single letter, and the letters he did send were as informative and honest as the Daily Prophet had been the previous year – not very helpful to say the least. Ron held out hope that his friend would make it through this rough time – he had to! It was Harry after all.

Ginny's thoughts were in the same place. She had been replaying the scene of Harry's arrival over and over again in her head since it had actually happened. It was like an awful horror film where you couldn't stop it nor close your eyes. She was stuck inside of it.

_Ginny was playing chess in the drawing room with Ron while her mother sat in an armchair in the corner knitting something to keep her mind from worry. The order had left several minutes ago in a panic. No one had informed she or Ron about what was happening, but it wasn't that abnormal. Since you-know-who's return had been made public, attacks had been a frequent occurrence. There had been many times when the order assembled only to leave in a hurry. Ginny assumed it was another attack tonight. _

_It was funny how numb the war had made her. The first few times the attacks had occurred, she had been horrified; in shock that something like this could happen. Now it just seemed routine – like the Order of the Phoenix was just going about their daily business in fighting for theirs and others' lives. The frankness with which she considered these now daily life and death situations sickened her. _

_Ron was on his way to quickly beating her in wizard's chess. This was usually the case so she didn't often play him. On nights like this, however; it was a way to pass the time – something to do to keep from being worried at the thought of their family and friends fighting evil wizards set on death and destruction._

_She moved her rook to take his queen. She looked up to Ron to see his reaction, pleased by her move. He looked triumphant._

'_What," she said eyes raking the board for something she had missed. Ron had already instructed his bishop to move to the correct spot._

'_Checkmate,' he grinned happily. _

_Ginny rolled her eyes. She was about to ask if he wanted to play another game when a head popped into the fire._

'_Molly,' wheezed the voice of Mrs. Figg, Harry's neighbor who Dumbledore had placed in Little Whinging to watch over him. _

_Ginny's heart dropped. Is that where the order had gone? Was Harry in trouble? Was that why they had looked more grim than usual? She looked quickly to Ron who's face seemed to echo the same thoughts she had running through her head. They both flinched as if to run over to the fire, but opted to stay put as their mother rushed up and knelt before the fire._

'_Yes?' she answered worriedly in a quiet voice that, nonetheless, carried across the silent drawing room._

'_Dumbledore contacted me,' Mrs. Figg said. 'Harry is going to headquarters… he sounded worried.'_

'_Is he okay?' asked Mrs. Weasley worriedly._

'_I don't know,' answered Mrs. Figg. 'Dumbledore just told me to let you know…'_

_She was drowned out by a 'thump' that came from downstairs. Almost immediately following it came a horrible scream of pain. This awoke the portrait of Mrs. Black. _

'_No,' breathed Ginny. Ron and Mrs. Weasley looked stricken._

_The three of them ran out of the room towards the commotion, wands drawn. From behind them, Mrs. Figg said, 'Let me know how he is,' and then she vanished from the fire. _

_Ron in the lead, the redheads thundered down the stairs into the front hall. The sight that greeted them was awful. Remus Lupin was kneeling over Harry Potter desperately trying to make him more comfortable. _

_Ginny gasped in shock as tears began to roll unnoticed down her cheeks. Harry was lying spread-eagled on the floor of the front hall, his shirt was missing, his shorts; tattered and dirty. Blood escaped from a small gash in the side of his head just in front of his ear. His whole body trembled in pain. Most unsettlingly, he chest had bumps in places it shouldn't have them, and it was nearly entirely black and blue. He seemed to be having trouble breathing – each one was a short gasp. As she, Ron, and her mother came to a stop, his eyes flickered open and closed and he passed out. _

_Before anyone could move, another pair of feet came thundering down the stairs. Ginny, Ron, Mrs. Weasley, and Lupin all raised their wands to meet the newcomer – it was Poppy Pomfrey._

_They lowered their wands and she moved past him. She grimaced at the sight, and levitated him._

'_Where's the nearest bedroom?' she asked briskly._

_It took them a minute to answer; they were still in shock at seeing Harry so beaten up._

'_Just up one flight,' answered Mrs. Weasley._

_Ginny felt numb and separate from her body; as if she hadn't been the one to speak. How could this have happened?_

Harry still had not woken up almost two days later.. A few hours after his arrival, Madame Pomfrey had deemed him stable. Ginny and Ron had watched her work on their friend, too stunned to do anything else until their mother had shooed them out. '_He needs privacy,_' she had said. They didn't argue.

The nurse left several potions with Professor Lupin and he was instructed to give them to Harry at certain intervals. As he still hadn't woken up, they had all taken turns spoon feeding him the potions in amounts small enough to swallow in his unconscious state. Seeing their friend so defenseless had been a tough experience for all of them. She had said that he would likely be unconscious for some time - he had lost a lot of blood and was experiencing some magical exhaustion.

By unspoken agreement, the Weasleys and Remus Lupin always made sure someone was sitting by his bedside. Even Tonks and the venerable Mad-Eye Moody had taken up the vigil a few times. It wasn't that they could do anything to help Harry, it just seemed necessary – it made them feel better knowing that he was still with them regardless of his current state..

Remus rarely left Harry's side. He ate, slept, and worked by the boy's bed, leaving only when absolutely necessary. He had discovered several days before Harry had arrived – it was easier to think of Harry's arrival at Grimmauld Place as planned, and not under the horrible circumstances it had occurred – that he was Harry's Guardian in accordance with Sirius' will. His friend had split his sizable estate evenly between Harry and Remus. The shaggy warrior's will had been quite short and humorous – only Sirius could laugh about death in his own will – Remus had smiled at the thought. The only other note of interest in the will (the details had been by far the lengthiest part of the document) was that Sirius ordered, on no uncertain terms, that Remus Lupin was to be the boy's Guardian, laws and restrictions damned. Remus wasn't sure what this was worth, but his deceased friend's ever-constant faith in his werewolf friend was touching.

He had been unsure what to do about it. Should he tell Harry that he was his guardian? How would Harry take it? Could the boy accept Remus for being a werewolf? Experiences with Harry had led Remus to believe that Harry wouldn't consider his condition any sort of issue, but decades of doubt were hard to sink.

As Harry's professor a few years previous, Harry had impressed the man beyond belief – Remus respected Harry greatly for the person he had become. He often wished James could see his boy now – how proud he would be of his son! In the intervening years he had grown a bit closer to the boy – he just hadn't realized what Harry meant to him. When he had seen Harry, however; bloody and beaten, but still trying to fight in the field in Surrey, Remus had been overcome. Not only was Harry the last link Remus had to any of his dear friends, but also, Remus had come to care for the boy very much. Beyond the connection it gave him to his long-deceased best friends, Harry was an outstanding person of whom Remus could not be more proud. It pained him to see the boy injured, beaten, and motionless. And so he sat in a silent vigil.

Ginny was also a near constant presence by Harry's bed. She was a washing machine of conflicting emotions. At first she explained away her near constant presence by Harry's bed as concern over a good friend and for someone for whom she held a good deal of respect. When she realized that she spent double the time Ron did in what had become her armchair to the right side of Harry's bed, she questioned why she couldn't tear herself away. The funny thing about sitting for hours on end in total silence – it gave her a lot of time to think. Her conclusions were confusing – like getting the answer to an Arithmancy problem she couldn't solve. Surely she didn't still have feelings for Harry! She had been writing to Dean Thomas earlier that summer, for God sakes! True, she had only told Ron that she was dating him to enrage him, but he was nice enough. She had made an attempt to get to know him. She had given up… no… gotten over Harry. Of course, she had been infatuated with him years ago. She had heard about the Boy-Who-Lived since before she could remember – she had loved the story. It captured her imagination – one day she would meet this boy and it would be love at first sight and she would marry him. It would be her fairytale.

The real Harry Potter had not been Ginny Weasley's fairytale. She had been infatuated with him upon seeing him, and he had been made uncomfortable by her open admiration for him. That situation had persisted for a few years until Ginny had realized something. Harry Potter was not the Boy-Who-Lived. Harry Potter was a modest, kind, brave, and loyal boy with flashes of talent – his Patronus Charm was very impressive, especially to think that he had mastered it in his third year! But he was not a make-believe prince. He was a living; breathing, mistake-making person who did the best he could, and risked everything to do what he thought was right. The real Harry Potter was a much better hero than the Boy-Who-Lived in Ginny's opinion. The real Harry Potter drew people to him whether he liked it or not - one of the many reasons she had so much respect for him. But she didn't still have _those_ feelings for him… did she?

Was she truly over Harry, or was she just determined to try? She sighed heavily for what had to be the thousandth time over the last several days. Who was she kidding?

She had been in one of these deep reveries on the morning of the third day after Harry had arrived on the floor of the front hall of Grimmauld Place when he finally began to stir.

Lost in thought, it had taken Ginny a moment to realize that Harry was finally moving. As she watched, his fingers twitched a few times, and he shifted positions in his unconscious state. She stood up rapidly, _Quidditch through the Ages,_ which she had been reading before here reverie, fell to the ground with a soft 'thud.'

The sound awakened Remus Lupin who had fallen asleep in the chair across Harry's bed from her. He shifted a bit and shook his head. His eyes snapped open already with the concerned look in them that had not left since Harry's arrival.

"Is he okay?" Lupin whispered getting up as well.

Ginny nodded. "I think he's waking up."

As she watched Harry, she noticed his eyes moving behind the pale and drawn lids. His breathing had become shallower and faster, quite unlike the deep and easy breaths he had been stuck on in sleep. He rolled over onto his side and settled in. He still had not open his eyes, but it was plain to see that he was sleeping now.

"I'll go tell mum," said Ginny with a relieved smile. She had been so worried about Harry. She had thought that he would get better, but the lack of change for several days had unnerved her.

He was okay now though – just sleeping. All they had to do now was to wait for him to wake up.

Ginny found her mother in the kitchen beginning to prepare that evening's dinner. Mrs. Weasley was very happy to hear the news about Harry and immediately used the fireplace to floo Madame Pomfrey. A short conversation later, and the gentle but uptight healer emerged from the fireplace in the kitchen of Grimmauld Place.

"He woke up?" she asked without preamble to Ginny.

"Not exactly," said Ginny now feeling unsure of herself because she was being put on the spot. What if she had just imagined Harry coming out of unconsciousness because that was what she wanted? What if he was still the same?

Logic won out. She knew Harry was better. She knew he was just sleeping upstairs. She could feel it.

"He kind of came to…" she explained, "his eyes were moving behind the lids and his breathing was quicker. After a minute, he rolled over and fell asleep. I don't know if he actually woke up though, his eyes never opened…" she trailed off.

"That sounds very encouraging," reassured Madame Pomfrey kindly. "I do wish to check on him myself," she stated.

"Of course," said Mrs. Weasley. She then led her daughter and the Hogwarts school nurse into the corridor to the staircase. As they turned to walk upstairs, Ron came thundering down to meet them.

"I thought I heard talking down here," he explained. "Is Harry okay?" he asked noticing Madame Pomfrey.

"We think he may be waking up, dear," answered Mrs. Weasley with a happy smile at her youngest son.

Ginny had not realized how worried her brother had been until she watched the relief flood into the features of his face. Only then did she realize how taut it had been – with worry and concern over his best friend. Fondness for her brother flooded into her chest at that moment.

A smile accompanied the relief on Ron's face, and, joining the three women, he walked up the stairs to Harry's room. They entered in time to see Lupin sit back down in his chair, his shoulders slumped in relief.

Madame Pomfrey bustled around the bed, and came to a stop by the armchair Ginny had been occupying. She waved her wand over various parts of his body which would then glow a different color for a few moments before fading back to the normal pallor that was Harry's skin. Ginny supposed they were diagnostic spells, but really had no idea what Madame Pomfrey was doing. The young woman's eyes never left the face of the healer – she was looking for any sign of what the school nurse thought of Harry's health.

After several minutes and frustratingly few facial expressions to analyze, Madame Pomfrey announced that Harry was in fine physical condition, but his magical reserves were low – likely from healing his grievous injuries.

"He will no longer need to take any potions, save for the strengthening ones," she ordered to Lupin handing him several vials with a blue liquid in them. She hesitated a moment, "I'll leave you a few dreamless sleep potions as well. He may need it, but be careful," she warned, "They can be addictive. He shouldn't take more than one every third night."

Lupin nodded mutely and took several more vials which he set down on the table by Harry's bed. Madame Pomfrey swept out of the room shortly after followed by Mrs. Weasley who announced that she needed to finish making that evening's dinner. A few minutes later, Lupin left without a word. He looked haggard and exhausted. Ginny and Ron took up the two armchairs by Harry's bed to wait.

"I hope Harry wakes up soon," said Ron. The casualness with which Ron uttered his wish did not betray the underlying worry he obviously felt for his friend. Ginny again felt a rush of gratitude toward her brother.

"Me too," she said quietly, praying that Harry would wake up. She wanted to reassure him; to make him feel better; to fix him. Ginny shook her head as if to rid it of all of the confusing feelings that had begun to seep back in. She would deal with those later. "Me too," she repeated in a whisper audible only to herself.

* * *

Several hours later, green eyes flared open in a snap. Harry was panicked for a moment before realizing where he was. The drab décor was depressingly recognizable as Number Twelve Grimmauld Place, the house of his late godfather, Sirius Black. Harry shook these thoughts out of his mind – they would do him no good at present. Taking in his surroundings, he realized he was lying in the bed of one of the bedrooms downstairs of the one he and Ron typically shared. It looked a lot like the room Ginny and Hermione had shared the previous Christmas from the glimpses he had seen of it from outside. No one was in the room at the moment apart from Harry, although he saw an armchair on either side of his bed that looked as if they had been well occupied judging by the books and empty plates strewn about their perimeter.

He stretched lightly, testing out the various muscles in his body. His chest was no longer pressing in on him painfully as it had been last he had remembered. He shuddered suddenly. The fight in the field by Privet Drive had been awful. It came with a start that Harry realized he had bested several Death Eaters by himself. True enough, he had lost in the end. If the Order hadn't shown up when they did… he could barely breathe at the time…

Shaking out of his morose thoughts, he realized that he felt no more pain. He ran his hands up the front of the t-shirt that had been placed on him while he was unconscious – he certainly couldn't remember putting it on – and felt nothing out of the ordinary. He seemed to be okay now. How long had he been out? Minutes? Days? Weeks? He had little concept of time, or, more specifically, time elapsed in that dark, little bedroom. It was disconcerting.

He stretched again and, after reassuring himself that he really was okay, he sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. He felt weak. The amount of energy needed to sit up was far greater than what it should have been. Accompanying the short burst of movement was a wave of dizziness. He put his head in his hands to stop the world from spinning. It worked marginally well.

Harry looked around the room again. Where was everyone? He was a bit surprised that no one was in the room with him. It was a bit unlike his friends to be absent. He felt a chill that had nothing to do with the temperature of the room. Had something happened to them? Is that why they were missing? Or was it just because he had been unconscious for so long that they had better things to be doing? He was about to get out of bed to go look for someone when the door creaked open very quietly, yet still noticeably in the permeating silence of the room.

Ginny walked around the edge of the open door and pulled to a halt when she saw Harry sitting up staring right back at her. The wheels in her brain turned more slowly than usual, her eyes not quite comprehending what they were seeing.

"Harry?" she asked tentatively. She had considered skipping dinner, but as she had missed so many meals recently and now that she knew Harry would be okay, she figured she needed to take care of herself. Of course he would wake up when no one was there!

"Hi Ginny," smiled Harry with a very faint air of surprise. Truth be told, he was surprised that Ginny had been the one to open the door. He had expected Ron or Hermione, although he wasn't sure whether she was at Grimmauld Place. It must be Ginny's room then, why else would she be in there? Grimmauld Place. Sirius' house. Harry fought the thoughts down and looked at Ginny again. There were dark circles under her eyes and her hair was rather messy at the moment – as if she hadn't bothered to brush it in a few days. Something else stirred in Harry. It was like the beginnings of motion sickness in his stomach – something fluttered in there briefly before being halted. His eyes traveled from her messy hair, to her dumbstruck look, roving over her features before resting on her chocolate brown eyes, sparkling back at him. The overall effect blasted Harry with a feeling he had never felt when looking at Ginny, or anyone else for that matter. It was like seeing her for the first time. She was beautiful.

Harry glanced down at the mess of plates, books, and rolls of parchment haphazardly strewn about the floor and back up at Ginny. The cogs slipped into place, and Harry knew, somehow, that it had been she who spent who knew how much time in one of the armchairs by his bed.

He was overwhelmed with emotions he couldn't make heads or tails of. He couldn't tell whether it was Ginny and the time those he cared about had spent by his side, or the inevitable appearance of painful memories of Sirius invading his thoughts, but he was inundated with more emotion than he could handle.

He had pushed off dealing with the death of his beloved Godfather. He had procrastinated on approaching how he felt about the prophecy. He had ignored the prospect of the guilt he felt for the whole incident in the Department of Mysteries – the death of his Godfather, the injuries to his friends. The damn he had built exploded into a million pieces, and emotion left him from every point of exit his body could find; through tears, through sobs, through shudders, and through words.

Ginny had not expected Harry to be awake so quickly – if she had, she would have put off dinner for much longer. It was with a good deal of surprise, therefore, that she saw him sitting up in his bed, his feet over the side and resting on the floor. She stopped, unable to move for her surprise for a moment. Her eyes locked on Harry's, green into brown with startling intensity. She heard Harry's greeting of 'Hi Ginny,' as if from far away. The intensity in their interlocked gazes lessened. Harry's face rocked in recognition for a moment before more emotions than Ginny could identify rippled across the boy's face. The next thing she knew, Harry had buried his face into his hands and was sobbing uncontrollably. It wasn't noisy, in fact, his sobs were nearly silent; but his body wracked violently with pain.

Harry had laid his face into his hands in vain attempt to control the now uncontrollable grief streaming from him. Before his mind could register that his damn of emotions had finally burst, Ginny had her arms around him.

Her embrace was tender, calming and understanding. Harry couldn't understand how the hug offered him so much; but it seemed to help. He embraced her back, letting the tears flow unabashedly. He couldn't even find it in himself to be embarrassed. His need for comfort was primal at the moment, and Ginny was providing him with what he needed. Harry suddenly felt very glad that it was Ginny and not Ron or Hermione that had entered his room first. He wasn't sure how they would have reacted to his sudden outburst, nor was he sure that their appearance would have allowed it to happen. As the tears slowed and his breathing evened, Harry realized he had needed this. He felt lighter than he had in months. Ginny, though shorter and much smaller than him, held Harry as tightly a she could, and Harry embraced her just as tightly, letting her comfort heal his open wounds. As the grief abated and he had stopped crying, he pulled back from Ginny.

"How long," he began unable to finish the sentence. He wasn't sure that he wanted to talk about the outburst he had just had – he had never so thoroughly lost control of his emotions and, regardless of how much better he felt, he was worried about Ginny's reaction to it. Thankfully, she didn't say anything about it, and seemed to know what he was asking.

"Three days," she said in barely more than a whisper. "You scared us, Harry."

Ginny tightened her arms around Harry again. Neither had pulled completely out of the embrace. Harry's arms were loosely wrapped around Ginny's shoulders while hers circled his abdomen. It was an embrace based on need. Harry needed to be comforted and Ginny needed reassurance that Harry would be okay.

"I'm sorry," Harry said looking away from her. Ginny pulled back completely out of the embrace and pulled on his cheek with an open palm gently so that he would look at her.

"You did what you had to do," she said in the same quiet voice. "We're all proud of you – all of the Order – we worry because we care," she said simply.

Harry shook his head. "I meant for…" he struggled, "for all of… that," he said cocking his head as if to motion to something invisible.

Ginny understood. He was apologizing for his emotional outburst upon her entrance into the room. She wrapped her arms around him again reassuringly and backed away, grabbing his hand.

She squeezed his hand and looked seriously up at him. "I'm always here, and I'll always listen," she offered. She cringed internally - what was she doing? Harry probably didn't want to confide in her!

Harry nodded and grimaced, trying to fight off the emotion that would not leave him alone.

Sensing that he needed a minute, Ginny backed away. "I'll go let everyone know you're awake in a few minutes."

Harry nodded gratefully at her. "Thank you," he whispered.

She smiled at him and left the room. Harry sat back on his bed. He had finally staved off the emotion that had tried to overtake him. Where had that come from? Embarrassment was beginning to arrive, much too late, of course. He had completely broken down in front of Ginny! What must she think of him now? _Some leader of the DA, fighting off dark forces only to go to pieces in bed!_ He thought sardonically. He took a deep breath and sat up in bed, waiting to meet whoever else was currently at Grimmauld Place.

He stood up and walked shakily over to a mirror hung on the wall to check his appearance. He really didn't want anyone else to know he had broken down as he had in front of Ginny. As he looked at his reflection he noted that he was more pale than usual. His hair was even wilder, and his face was thin. He didn't look extremely healthy, but he didn't look as bad as he had thought he would. Thankfully, his eyes didn't look too blotchy and red. He simply looked like he had been asleep for some time, which, he reminded himself, he had been.

Content enough with his appearance, he turned around just in time to see the door open once again with Ginny leading the way. Lupin followed her in with Mrs. Weasley, Ron, Mr. Weasley, and the twins behind him. Before he knew it, Lupin had swept Harry into a relieved hug. Harry instantly realized who had been in the other armchair and felt suddenly very fond of the last marauder. After Lupin had backed away, the remaining Weasleys all offered Harry a hug of their own. Fred and George offered no dramatics in theirs – they seemed as genuinely relieved as anyone else. He must have been in bad shape if he had even subdued the twins!

Nearly an hour later, after many more hugs and constant reassurances to Mrs. Weasley that he was feeling fine, Harry was left in the room with Remus Lupin who had asked Harry quietly if he could speak with him.

The Weasley's complied at once, leaving Harry to wonder if this had been on his old professor's mind for some time.

"Harry," the man began quietly, "I am so sorry."

Harry stared back at him. What was he talking about? What did he have to be sorry for?

"For what?" Harry asked curiously.

"You almost… If we hadn't gotten there…"

"I'm okay Professor Lupin," assured Harry. "It's not your fault that Death Eaters are trying to kill me." _That's the prophecy's fault,_ he thought bitterly.

Lupin's head had snapped up upon being addressed as 'Professor Lupin.' "Harry, I have not been your professor in some time. Why don't you call me Remus? Or even 'Moony' if you like."

"Sirius would like that," said Harry softly. He tried to hold back the flood of grief. It was less than before. Somehow letting go in front of Ginny had made the suffocating pressure easier to deal with. Not that much better, but Harry felt that he was finally beginning to heal.

"I'm sorry," he continued. Lupin looked confused. "Sirius… I know he was your friend. I know it...it was my fault. If I hadn't fallen for Voldemort's trick, he would still be alive," said Harry very quietly, unable to avoid the bitterness that colored his tone.

Lupin looked floored. "Your fault?" he said blankly. "It was my fault! I should have kept him from coming. We knew how dangerous it was for him to be out!"

"How is that your fault?"

"It was my job to protect him…" said Lupin trailing off. "And his to protect you," he finished quietly. "Nothing would have stopped him from going that night. He couldn't have chosen a better way to go, Harry. He loved you very much. I hope you know that."

Tears were falling down the last marauder's face. Harry's cheeks were getting wet as well – he was crying too. Harry looked down, too embarrassed to let Professor... Moony see his face,

"Look at us," smiled Lupin after a moment, placing his hand on Harry's shoulder. "Crying over Sirius deciding who is at fault. He's up there yelling at us right now."

Harry smiled tremulously back at Lupin. "With my parents," he whispered.

Lupin nodded with a gulp, trying to ease his pain back.

"I can't believe I was so stupid," muttered Harry angrily to himself, Lupin heard him.

"It's not your fault," he said more sharply than he had intended. His face softened when Harry's head snapped up to meet his gaze. "He wouldn't want you blaming yourself. Like I said, he loved you very much. If there was one thing he would have wanted to be doing when he died, it would be protecting you. That was who he was. It was Bellatrix Lestrange's fault. She killed him in cold blood," Lupin shuddered. "We'll get her," he vowed almost too quietly for Harry to hear him.

Harry nodded silently. He knew Sirius wouldn't want him to blame himself, but it was so hard! Hopefully, among those that cared about him, he could begin to heal.

"Harry, I haven't gotten to what I want to talk to you about," said Lupin after a deep breath to calm himself.

Harry nodded his head as if to say 'go ahead.'

"This may be painful, but it's important," he cautioned. "Sirius' Will was read a few weeks into summer. He left you and me everything. Well most everything, he left some to the Weasley's as well. Sirius was a very wealthy man as heir to the Black line – he saw to it that you'll be taken care of for a very long time."

Harry nodded once, not trusting himself to speak. He didn't want Sirius' money! He'd give it all just to have the man back for a moment!

Lupin drew a folded-over piece of parchment from his pocket and handed it to Harry.

"These are the numbers of what he gave you," said Lupin quietly.

"Thanks," Harry managed to get out before taking the piece of paper and stowing it in his pocket. He really didn't want to see it.

"Also," Lupin continued, but then he hesitated. This is the part he had been worrying about. "Sirius wanted, in his Will, for me to be your guardian. I wanted to ask you, in case… I know the Weasleys wouldn't mind…"

Harry actually smiled. "That would be great. Keep up the Marauder tradition, you know," he said fighting down another surge of grief at the word "Marauder." He did want Lupin to be his guardian. He thought that was how his parents would want it, and that was obviously what Sirius wished for.

Lupin smiled broadly. "Really?" he asked tentatively. For a split second, Harry could see how the years of abuse for being a werewolf had affected the man. He was similar to Harry in some respects – they both had a difficult time really accepting friendship and love after all of the loneliness each had been through. Harry felt certain that Lupin had had a far worse time of it than he had.

"Of course, Professor Lupin!" reassured Harry with a smile for the man's benefit.

"That's Moony to you," corrected Lupin with a broad smile before pulling Harry into an embrace. He couldn't be a father to Harry and he would never try to replace Sirius, but he could do his best to fill a void Harry had been missing for so much of his life.

The two talked about inconsequential things – a few changes had been made to the house, who had been around, and bits of information like that – for some time. It was nice to be able to talk to his new guardian without being pushed for feelings. Lupin seemed to know that Harry needed to take baby steps in talking about Sirius – perhaps he was the same way. After the talking had died down a bit, a knock came at the door.

"Come in," said Harry and Lupin simultaneously. Both wore slight smiles from their conversation – they both felt far better than they had since Sirius' death.

The door opened in response and Professor Dumbledore walked into the room.

"Professor," said Harry his heart dropping. He had thought a lot about what had happened in the headmaster's office at the end of the school year. Part of him had been upset with Dumbledore from keeping the prophecy from him, but the overwhelming portion of Harry's mind had felt very guilty over the yelling and trashing of the man's office. He needed an outlet to blast his grief and anger over Sirius' death into, and Dumbledore and his office had become that outlet.

"Harry," said Dumbledore with a smile, "it is so good to see you up again. How are you feeling?"

"Better sir," answered Harry truthfully. The physical pain was gone, and between his emotional upheaval with Ginny and talking with Remus, he felt much better than he had before.

"And Remus, how are you my friend?"

"Very good, Albus," replied Remus with a smile.

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled merrily to accompany the smile on his face. "I was wondering if I might talk to you, Harry."

"Of course," said Harry.

Remus got up to leave, but Dumbledore halted him by raising his hand. "You are most welcome to stay, Remus, that is, if Harry doesn't mind, of course."

"Not at all," replied Harry. "I'd - I'd like him to stay." Remus smiled widely at Harry.

Dumbledore walked around the end of Harry's bed to sit in the chair opposite Remus – the one that had been occupied by Ginny.

He sat down and looked into Harry's face apologetically. The change in emotions confused Harry.

"I need to apologize to you, Harry," said Dumbledore. "My misjudgments have harmed you in ways I never imagined. I didn't give you information you deserved to know. I wanted you to have a childhood – to grow up happy before facing your destiny. I now realize that you have shown me for years that you were ready to take on the full responsibility that's been unfairly placed upon your shoulders. Can you forgive me for my shortsightedness?"

Harry looked quickly to Remus who was looking at him seriously, and then back at Dumbledore.

"Sirius shared the contents of the prophecy with Remus before he passed," explained Dumbledore. "He was most upset that I did not divulge the contents to you, and I must say he was right."

The man looked so remorseful, it was impossible to be angry with him.

"It's okay, Professor Dumbledore," said Harry, "I understand."

"I believe it is time I treat you how you have proven time and time again that you ought to be treated -," continued Professor Dumbledore, "- as an adult."

"What do you mean, sir?" asked Harry.

"You have gone above and beyond my expectations of you in every action you take. I could see your determination on that field in Surrey. You are an adult by all means but age."

Harry stared back at Dumbledore in shock.

"You now know what you are up against," continued Dumbledore. "I have no doubt that you can beat Voldemort – therefore, I offer my help. I will train you to the best of my ability; I will give you all of the knowledge I possess if you wish it?"

Harry was stunned. Not only had Dumbledore – the greatest wizard alive – just apologized to him when it was Harry who should be apologizing, he had spoken to him as an equal – like Harry was every bit as powerful as the old headmaster.

"Professor, I should be apologizing to you, I destroyed your office… it wasn't your fault… I'm sorry."

Dumbledore waved his hand. "Most of my possessions were easily fixed. I have too many as it is anyway."

"I would be honored to receive your help, professor," answered Harry when it seemed Dumbledore was waiting for an answer.

"Thank you Harry. I hope that you can forgive me for my mistakes. I have made far too many when it comes to you."

"I never blamed you," replied Harry. He had been angry with Dumbledore, but the man had always done what he thought was best, just like Harry. He would a hypocrite to blame Dumbledore.

"If you are up to it, then" said Dumbledore. "there is an Order meeting in ten minutes. I would like for you to join. This is your war more than it is mine, Harry, and you have proved time and time again that it's time for you to be a part of this fight."

"Thank you, sir. I would be honored to join the Order." said Harry.

"Why don't you put on some fresh clothes and then meet us downstairs." said Dumbledore to Harry.

"Before we go," said Harry tentatively. "What about Ron and Ginny?"

Dumbledore fixed Harry with a piercing stare and waited a moment before speaking. "While I believe that Mr. and Ms. Weasley are critical to this fight, I cannot ask them to join the Order. They are both underage, and I daresay Molly would not approve. I cannot force you to keep what you learn from them, Harry, and I realize that this fight is as much theirs as it is ours. I must ask that you are careful with the information that you divulge. Information is both a beautiful and terrible thing, and should be treated with the utmost care and respect."

Harry nodded solemnly.

"Meet us in the kitchen as soon as you are ready," said Dumbeldore with a smile. He turned and strode out of the room with Remus right behind him.

Harry nodded and bent over his trunk which had been placed at the foot of his bed to dig out some clean clothes. He was going to be inducted into the Order! Truthfully, he felt much less excited by the idea than he felt like he would have been the previous year, but it was nice to know that he was finally being included in the fight. Finding a fresh t-shirt and pair of jeans, he pulled them on, tied his trainers, and left the room, ready to take the first step in his fight against Voldemort.


	4. The Order Meeting

**Chapter 3: The Order Meeting**

* * *

Harry made his way down the stairs slowly towards the kitchen for his first Order meeting. He felt very stiff and sore making the routine trip down the stairs far more difficult and less comfortable than he would have hoped. He hoped he could feel normal again soon! Struggling to walk downstairs was frustrating - especially given the strength he had gained in his daily runs.

He entered the kitchen and saw Mrs. Weasley trying to shepherd Ginny and Ron out the door as Order members began filling the seats around the table.

Mrs. Weasley began trying to shepherd Harry out as well.

"Come on, Harry," she urged. "Why don't you kids go do some homework in the drawing room until we finish up."

"Dumbledore asked me to..." began Harry not looking at her. He knew Mrs. Weasley cared for him deeply, and he didn't want to see her face when she heard that he would be a part of the Order.

"I have asked Harry to join the Order of the Phoenix, Molly," said Dumbledore in a clear voice that cut through the babble of voices filling the room. The kitchen quickly became very quiet.

"He... you what?" stuttered Mrs. Weasley trying to get her mind around the fact that Harry would not be leaving.

Several other Order members voiced their disapproval as well.

"Albus! You can't be serious!"

"He's only a boy, Albus!"

It was Snape's voice that cut through the murmurs to sting Harry's ears. "You can't be serious, Dumbledore. Potter, join the Order? He's made his talents perfectly clear in the past - all he is good for is getting people killed."

There was a collective gasp in the room and Harry felt like he had been walloped in the chest with a muggle baseball bat.

"Severus, that is uncalled for," snapped Dumbledore fixing the Potions Master with a furious gaze. Harry's stomach unclenched a little and he was pleased to see Snape quail under Dumbledore's angry stare.

"Mum, if Harry is joining, I am as well," argued Ron to his mother.

"Absolutely not, Ronald," she dissented. "Head upstairs until the meeting is over."

"Mum!"

"I cannot control what Harry does - he is Remus's charge, not mine. You however, are underage, and my son, and I do not want you anywhere near this danger. Now go!"

"This is as much our fight as it is yours," countered Ginny, her hands on her hips. Harry noticed that her eyes flashed in her ire. His stomach squirmed uncomfortably with a feeling he couldn't place.

"This is not up for discussion, Ginny."

"We've always been by Harry's side," agreed Ron. "We're not leaving now."

"You are not joining the Order," shouted Mrs. Weasley, "now go!"

"Harry will just tell us everything that happens anyway, won't you, Harry," Ron continued as if his mother had not responded.

"I will, Mrs. Weasley," said harry very quietly. She whipped her head towards him, shock mingling with the anger on her face.

"You... Harry, dear?"

"I know what it feels like to not be informed," he continued quietly, unable to look her in the eye. "If I had known what was going on... Sirius might still be here."

Molly stared at him for a moment and then turned slowly back to her children. "I know that I can't force Harry to hold anything back from you, but I still will not allow you to join. Ginny, Ron, upstairs. Now," she finished almost dangerously. Harry's stomach squirmed again but this time with an emotion he could identify - guilt.

Harry caught Ron and Ginny's grateful grins in his direction, but couldn't meet their eyes. He felt like he had just betrayed Mrs. Weasley and felt horrible for it. He strode around the table to take an open seat next to Moony, and looked at Dumbledore, wishing that the rest of the Order would stop staring at him.

Dumbledore cleared his throat. "As you are all aware now, we are to welcome another Potter to our ranks. I will not give you full disclosure, but please take my word for it when I say that Harry both is required to be here and deserves to be here."

"Too right he is!" piped up a woman Harry knew by sight but not by name. "You should have seen the devastation he caused in that field back in Surrey! Took down four Death Eaters by himself, he did!"

"Potter's actions were those of a foolish child," growled Professor Snape. "He should have called for help, not blow up..."

"Severus," warned Dumbledore sharply. "That is enough."

Dumbledore stared at Snape for a moment before looking around the table.

"All right, let's begin. Severus, do you have anything to report?"

Snape scowled at Harry one more time before standing up to give his report. Harry wondered why Snape was being so vicious towards him. This was even worse than usual!

"I have heard rumblings that the Dark Lord is planning a larger, more public attack. He rarely includes all of his followers in on any plan, and this is not one I am to be included in. I do get the sense that this is a departure from his current string of Guerilla, terrorist-style tactics."

"Very well," said Dumbledore. "Anything else."

"Yes," said Snape a bit hesitantly. "The Dark Lord is searching for something. I am not sure what exactly, but he has become very interested in ancient prophecies - particularly in information about the famous Seer, Pythia. I don't know anything else, but will let you know as I learn more."

"Thank you Severus," said Dumbledore, his eyes seeming to glaze over in thought for a moment. He shook his head very lightly. "Kingsley?" he asked turning to the tall, dark-skinned auror.

"The Ministry is still firmly behind Fudge," answered Kingsley in his deep, calming voice. "They were shaken at the beginning of this summer, but seem to still believe that Fudge is controlling the situation. No doubt the Daily Prophet is making things easier. They've yet to release any accurate details regarding these attacks."

"Do we believe that Voldemort has been successful in recruiting any ministry workers or subjecting any to the Imperious?"

"It does not appear that way yet. I believe Voldemort is allowing the Ministry's disorganization to work in his favor."

Harry couldn't help but scowl when he noticed almost half of the table flinch at the mention of Voldemort's name. And this was supposed to be the best hope the light had against Voldemort and his followers!

After Kingsley, Mr. Weasley gave an update on the Muggle Murders that had been happening with an increasing frequency. Apparently the Muggle Ministry was beginning to get suspicious, and the Ministry would soon have to step in.

"Remus," said Dumbledore turning to the man at Harry's left, "Have you had any luck with the other Werewolves?"

"I'm not sure yet, Albus," replied the prematurely graying werewolf. "I believe that some of them are receptive to what I'm saying, but as a community, Werewolves distrust the mainstream magical community so much that it will be tough to create a relationship with them. Fenrir Greyback is doing good job of using fear to turn them to Voldemort."

Harry observed a shudder course around the table at the mention of Fenrir. "Who is Greyback?" asked Harry unable to stop himself. He didn't feel very comfortable speaking in front of the entire order.

"He is the worst of the Werewolves," answered Lupin darkly. "He bites for the pleasure of it - looks forward to the devastation he can cause on a full moon. He enjoys it. It was Fenrir that changed me," Lupin finished darkly.

Harry felt an immediate surge of hatred towards Fenrir Greyback - the man who had caused his father's friend, his guardian, to live a difficult life.

"I believe that's all we have for this evening," said Dumbledore. "Continue your assignments, and we will meet again the night after tomorrow. Thank you."

Harry rose from his chair at the table thinking he would go find Ron and Ginny. He turned to walk out of the room before a hand on his shoulder stopped him.

"Harry," said Dumbledore smiling at him. "Thank you for being a part of our meeting tonight. I feel confident that the information in these meetings is information you deserve to know. While I can't force you to hold back what you learn from your friends, I do ask that you use the utmost caution. As I said earlier, Harry, information is a dangerous thing."

Harry nodded, unsure if Dumbledore was expecting a response.

Dumbledore seemed to be getting to something else. He paused for a moment and then said, "As part of your training, I still do believe it is critical that you learn occlumency."

Dread hit Harry's stomach like a stone. "Sir," he began, "Snape and I... we don't work well together."

"Professor Snape," corrected Dumbledore lightly. "I am sorry that I didn't foresee Professor Snape's inability to get past his hatred for your father. I agree with you that he is not the right person to teach you occlumency."

"So then - then who can teach me?" asked Harry despairingly.

"I will," replied Dumbledore simply. At Harry's surprised look, he explained, "I do not believe, as I did last term, that spending time in my presence will draw Voldemort into your mind. His possession of you in June was a highly painful experience for him. He will not want to enter your mind again."

"So then how come I need to learn occlumency?" asked Harry hopefully. If he could avoid the drained, helpless feeling that he had come to associate with occlumency lessons, he would be thrilled!

"Although I do not believe Voldemort would wish to enter your mind again, I believe he would if he thought he could benefit from it. If you are to be burdened with a connection to Voldemort, I would like for you to learn to control it."

"You really think I can control it, Professor?"

"I am sure of it," said Dumbledore benignly.

Harry smiled at him and walked upstairs to find his friends.

He found Ron and Ginny playing Wizard's Chess in the Drawing Room. When they saw him enter, they both stood up quickly to meet him, bombarding him with questions.

"How was the meeting, Harry?"

"What did they say? What happened?"

"Will they let us join?"

"It was fine," Harry answered softly. "It was - it actually was exactly what I expected. There wasn't anything said that we couldn't have figured out."

"What do you mean?" asked Ginny as Ron frowned at him.

"Well," Harry said pausing for a moment. "It was really an update - no strategy on the war or anything. Snape told us that Voldemort is planning something..."

Harry noticed that Ginny didn't flinch at his mention of Voldemort while Ron still did, even though Ron had heard him say it for years. he wondered briefly if it was a result of her experience in the chamber with Tom's sixteen year old self, and a pang of sadness followed by the confusing urge to \wrap his arms around her flared through Harry's chest.

"Do we know what he's planning?" asked Ron.

Harry shook his head, glancing at Ginny again, puzzling over his previous thoughts.

"N-No we don't," said Harry, shaking his head to clear it of these confusing thoughts.

"Figures," said Ron grumpily. "Lousy git probably wouldn't tell us what it was even if he did know."

Harry, remembering Snape's unusually sour attitude toward him during the meeting nodded. "He wasn't in a good mood tonight."

"How do you mean?" asked Ginny.

"Nothing unusual - just normal Snape stuff," Harry waved her off.

"What else did they talk about?" prompted Ron curiously.

"Professor Lupin - Moony - is working on the Werewolves. Not having much luck. Apparently one of them - Greyback - I forget his first name. Anyway, he was the one who bit Moony in the first place. He's on Voldemort's side -" Ron flinched again, "and the werewolves don't want to go against him."

"He bit Professor Lupin?" asked Ginny aghast.

"Moony says he bites for the pleasure of it," said Harry repressing an involuntary shudder.

Ginny and Ron were quiet for a minute, until the three moved across the Drawing Room to sit by the fire.

"What about the Ministry?" asked Ron. "Is Fudge -"

"Yeah, he's still not going anywhere," sighed Harry. His chest, still sore from the attack in Little Whinging, gave a sudden painful twinge causing him to gasp.

"What is it, Harry?" asked Ginny, the concern evident in her voice. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," said Harry rubbing the left side of his rib cage under his arm. "My chest just - hurt a bit."

Ginny nodded sympathetically. "Madame Pomfrey said you might get the occasional pain over the next few days as your ribs completely heal - they were..." Ginny drew a deep, slightly shuddering breath. "Are you okay? When you got here - you weren't in good shape."

Ron nodded solemnly in agreement. "Yeah mate, we were worried."

Harry felt oddly touched by his friends' concern.

"I'm all right," he said grinning to show that he meant it. Looking for a way to change the subject he asked, "Is Hermione coming to stay?"

"Yeah - tomorrow!" said Ron a little more brightly than Harry would have expected. He looked at Ron slightly confused. Ginny snickered.

"What?" asked Ron defensively. "We've been cooped up here all summer - weren't even allowed to go back to the Burrow!"

"What?" asked Harry distracted.

"Yeah! They said it was too risky because our whole family... well, you know. We're not exactly at the top of the list of You-Know-Who's favorite people."

Harry's stomach sank. The Weasley's couldn't go home because of the danger they were in? Somehow he felt that danger had more to do with their friendship with him than with their status as Muggle-lovers.

Remus stared into the dying flames in the small grate in his large bedroom in Grimmauld Place, lost in thought. While he agreed with Dumbledore that Harry deserved to be a part of the Order, he couldn't help thinking that placing his best friends' son in the middle of a war at the age of sixteen would not have been their idea of adequately fulfilling his duties as a guardian. He didn't hear the door open to his room, nor the footsteps that approached him until a shadow fell across his face.

"You all right, Remus?" asked Tonks, moving in front of him to block his view of the fire.

Remus allowed a tired smile to cross his face. "I'm fine." he said sitting back into his armchair. He considered Tonks for a moment. She had been very... present recently. It always seemed to be an accident, but she had been popping up wherever he was for several months now. Remus wasn't fooling himself - he cared for the young auror. But a werewolf starting a relationship with a vivacious woman more than ten years younger than him sounded like a pretty irresponsible thing to do.

"Yeah, and dragons are great pets," nodded Tonks humorously.

"I'm worried about Harry," said Remus bluntly.

Tonks' eyes widened. Remus rarely opened up to her without some needling. This was unprecedented!

"I am too," she agreed cautiously, curious to find out what was on his mind.

"He shouldn't have to go through this - not at sixteen! And here I am, his guardian, allowing him to join the fight," said Remus, unable to keep his emotions from coloring his voice.

"He shouldn't. But this is his fight as much as anyone's - You-Know-Who killed his parents - has been trying to kill Harry his whole life. I don't understand why Dumbledore is allowing him into the Order, but I can certainly-"

"You don't?" asked Remus more sharply than he had intended, looking up at her quickly.

"No I..." she faltered. "Do you?"

Remus sighed heavily. He wondered if Sirius has told Tonks about the prophecy too - she was his cousin. "It's not my place to say exactly why. Dumbledore is right though, it is not possible to exclude Harry from this fight." He buried his face in his hands again, massaging his forehead with his finger tips.

"Remus," said Tonks' voice after a moment from a place much closer to his ears than before. He glanced up sharply to find here eyes staring into his, inches from his face. His breath quickened. He glanced down at her lips - how he would love to taste them! But he must not think like that!

Tonks laughed breathily. "You aren't as mysterious as you'd like to think you are Mr. Werewolf."

"What do you-" Remus began to ask. He couldn't finish - Tonks had her lips pressed against his. He still worried about Harry, but his mind was completely enveloped by the care of the quirky, young auror who he now found sitting on his lap. This was bliss.

Remus smiled against her lips when she pulled away to draw a breath. "Trying to distract me?"

"It's working, isn't it?" she breathed impishly. Her eyes flicked back down to her lips.

Remus gave a delighted chuckle and kissed her again.

Harry's occlumency lesson with Dumbledore the next day went far better than any he'd had before with Snape. Dumbledore began by simply teaching him a breathing exercise that helped him to clear his mind. Dumbledore told him that the first step was clearing his mind. After Harry had learned how to do that easily, they would progress to building mental walls. Dumbledore explained that occlumency was a lot like building defenses for a castle. He had to learn to keep the important contents of his mind inside, and then to build formidable barriers around the outside to protect those contents.

It sounded simple enough to Harry, and his thoughts as he headed to grab lunch downstairs were of Dumbledore's superiority as a teacher when compared to Snape.

As he opened the door to the kitchen, he saw a flash of green from the fireplace followed by the bushy-haired, bright-eyed form of Hermione Granger.

"Hermione!" shouted Ron who was sitting next to the fire. He grabbed her in a hug from which neither seemed to want to pull away. Ginny laughed and pushed Ron out of the way giving Hermione a hug of her own.

"Hi Hermione!" said Ginny, continuing to chuckle at Ron's blushing face.

"We're so glad to have you here, Hermione!" said Mrs. Weasley, gathering the girl into a hug of her own.

Harry smiled broadly at the exchange and strode over to greet her. When Hermione saw Harry walking up she threw her arms around him.

Harry gasped softly in pain - his ribs were still sore. Hermione pulled back quickly.

"Oh no!" she gasped. "Did I hurt you? When I heard what happened, I was so worried! Are you all right? I can't believe the Death Eaters found you - Dumbledore always said Privet Drive was safe! What happened?"

She said all of this very fast, and Harry felt a little dizzy.

"Let's get some lunch first," said Ron, "we can talk later."

"Food above all, huh, Ron?" teased Ginny.

Ron was about to reply when Mrs. Weasley placed a large plate of sandwiches on the table.

"Food!" he said delightedly. "I'm starving! Thanks Mum!"

The other three teens laughed and sat down around the plate of sandwiches to eat with him.

After they had eaten their fill, Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny headed upstairs to the Drawing Room. Hermione was bursting with questions, but held her curiosity until they were comfortably seated in what had become their armchairs around the fire.

"So what happened, Harry?" she asked without preamble.

Harry leaned forward to rest his chin on his knuckles, and noticed that Ginny and Ron were watching him eagerly. He realized that they had refrained from asking him anything in the day since he had awoken, and he felt a sudden wave of gratitude towards both of them. He sighed - he knew he owed them answers.

"On that morning," he began. "Uncle Vernon and I... er... we had a disagreement. He doesn't like to see anything magical-"

"But that's part of who your are!" exclaimed Hermione earnestly.

"I know," placated Harry, "but it doesn't change the fact. It's how he's always been - not a big deal." Harry paused for a moment, and continued when Hermione didn't have anything else to say on the matter. "I had my wand in my back pocket and it upset him. I was... I wasn't in a good place, and I shouted back. It's my fault really, but Uncle Vernon kicked me out of the house."

Harry's friends gasped.

"I think the wards fell then - there was this massive boom. I left - I didn't know where to go - I was... like I said, I wasn't handling... things well, so I ended up in this field a little ways away from the Dursleys."

"Why didn't you go to Mrs. Figg?" asked Hermione. "She could have helped you?"

Harry shrugged. Truthfully, he hadn't wanted to see anyone at the time. He just wanted to be alone. "When I was in that field... that's when the Death Eaters showed up. I tried to fight back, but there were too many."

"How many?" asked Hermione.

"I think seven," responded Harry.

"You faced seven Death Eaters?" asked Hermione. She couldn't decide if she was impressed or horrified.

"You should've heard Kinglsey talk about it, Hermione!" cut in Ginny. "Harry blasted a giant crater in the field. Knocked four of them out - they're in custody now. Kingsley said it must've taken a huge amount of power to do that much damage."

Harry shifted uncomfortably.

Hermione spun back to Harry with her eyebrows raised. "You cast a spell so powerful, it left a crater? What spell?"

Harry looked down. "I don't remember," he answered softly.

"You don't remember?"

"I was just trying to get away!" said Harry more sharply than he'd intended to. At her surprised look, he said "Sorry Hermione - I just... I don't like talking about it. Plus it's not like I managed for long." He smiled grimly.

"Harry, don't joke about it!" said Ginny. "It was awful to see you so hurt."

Harry's heart twisted, and he felt suddenly very ashamed that he'd upset Ginny.

"Harry went to the Order Meeting last night," said Ron, trying to change the subject.

"He what?" gasped Hermione. "Why?"

"Dumbledore asked me to join," said Harry evasively.

"But why would he change his mind about letting you join? Did he let you two join the Order?"

"Mum wouldn't let us - Dumbledore didn't really have a say," said Ron grumpily.

"So why Harry?" asked Hermione looking at Harry suspiciously.

"I dunno - guess he thought with all of the trouble I get into, that they ought to keep me informed," said Harry with an attempt at a chuckle. He was getting very uncomfortable over the direction of the conversation and wanted desperately to change the subject. The prophecy frightened him tremendously, and he knew he owed his friends an explanation eventually. he just didn't feel that he was ready for full disclosure yet. What if they deserted him because of the danger? He wasn't sure he could bear the loss.

Ron seemed to accept his answer, but Ginny and Hermione both gave him identical piercing looks that reminded him forcefully of the one Dumbledore often gave him when Harry was attempting to avoid full disclosure.

Thankfully, neither one pressed him on it, and they spent the rest of the day playing Wizard's Chess, Exploding Snap, and just talking.

As Harry went to bed that night, he smiled happily. This was his true family. He hadn't been kicked out of his home by his Uncle Vernon, he'd just been given an early departure to get to his real home.

"So what's going on with you and Harry," asked Hermione once she had turned out the light on gotten into one of the twin beds in the room that she and Ginny shared for the summer.

"What do you mean?" asked Ginny blankly.

"All of the looks Harry was giving you today? You can't tell me you haven't noticed - Harry is not that subtle."

Ginny turned over to face Hermione though she could only see the older girls outline through the dark room. "He wasn't looking at me."

"He was! He glanced over your way whenever he thought you weren't looking," replied Hermione. Ginny thought she could hear a smug undertone to Hermione's voice.

Had Harry been watching her? He had certainly spent much more time with her since he'd arrived, but that wasn't saying much. Plus she had almost always been with Ron - maybe it was because she had been there with him when he broke down about Sirius - that had to be it!

She told Hermione so.

"He broke down about Sirius?" said the older girl, sounding shocked.

"Sirius was the only family Harry's ever had, of course he-"

"No, it's not that," said Hermione. "It's just - you know Harry. He never likes to show emotion in front of anyone."

"I think it just sort of spilled out of him - not like he's been able to talk to anyone this summer," said Ginny darkly.

"Well I'm glad you were there for him - maybe you can help him through this," said Hermione. "God knows he'll need the help. And regardless, Harry is definitely paying some attention to you - and not because you were there with him for that."

Ginny was silent for a minute. She hated to admit that she had been thrilled to hear Hermione comment on the looks Harry was giving her - of course she noticed! But when it came to Harry, she didn't want to get her hopes up. She had tried so hard to get over him!

"Yeah," said Ginny softly.

"You still like him, don't you?" asked Hermione victoriously.

"When did I ever stop?" sighed Ginny. "I just don't want to get my hopes up."

"He's interested, Ginny, and you know it. You'll just have to take it slow - his only other experience with girls didn't go so well," said Hermione.

Ginny knew all about Harry's failed relationship with Cho - the entire school did. She had been thrilled to hear it went poorly at the time, much to her dismay. Why couldn't she manage to get over him!

"Are you sure, Hermione?" asked Ginny, hating the hopeful tone in her voice.

"I think so Ginny," said Hermione encouragingly. "Like I said, Harry is far easier to read than he thinks he is. I just don't know if he knows yet!"

Ginny laughed, suddenly feeling deliriously happy. "Goodnight, Hermione!"

"Goodnight, Ginny."

Harry and Ron woke up to the door of their room banging off the back wall and a feverish voice nearly screaming.

"They're here! They're here! They're Here!" Hermione's voice was unusually loud and Harry opened his eyes blearily and grabbed his glasses. He saw Ron's blurry form put its pillow over it's face.

"Hermione, what are you on about?" groaned a muffled voice from beneath Ron's pillow.

"OWL Results are here!" she said ripping the pillow of Ron's face.

"Hermione!" he moaned.

"They're downstairs! Some Hogwarts owls just dropped them off! I'm not opening mine until you two get downstairs, but hurry!" she said happily. She bustled out of the room, leaving the boys staring after her in shock.

"What do you suppose she'd do if we went back to bed?" said Ron, eyeing his pillow hopefully.

"Probably murder us," said Harry unconcernedly, rolling out of bed and searching for a pair of jeans in the mess of clothes on the floor.

"You're probably right, we should head down," agreed Ron seriously, throwing the covers off of his legs and getting out of bed..

After throwing some clean-smelling clothes on, the boys trudged down the stairs, and were greeted at the door to the kitchen with a wild-eyed Hermione clutching three letter - one addressed to each of them. She handed each of them their own letter and nearly skipped back into the kitchen.

Ron shook his head at Harry and followed her. They all sat down around the table. As if by an unspoken agreement, Harry and Ron both calmly put their letters down and began to load their plates with breakfast.

"Morning, Ginny," said Harry brightly. She blushed and mumbled "morning."

Hermione was staring open mouthed at Ron and Harry, unable to believe that they could resist opening their results.

Ginny laughed. "You guys need to open your letter before Hermione explodes."

Harry and Ron laughed and picked up their letters. Hermione had the grace to look slightly embarrassed, but grabbed her letter all the same.

"Together then?" said Ron. Harry and Hermione nodded, and tore open their envelopes. Harry pulled out the first of two sheets of parchment and read:

_Mr. Potter,_

_You O.W.L. results are enclosed. Please notify Professor McGonagall of the classes you wish to take at the NEWT level for your final two years at Hogwarts by no later than August 20th. Wishing you well._

_Best,_

_Melissa Grenwich_

_Magical Testing Committee_

_Ministry of Magic_

Quickly, he flipped over to the second sheet and poured over his results:

_Harry James Potter,_

_The scores are listed below as such: the subject followed by the evaluation result for the written and then the practical exam (if applicable). The final line is the overall grade._

_Transfiguration:_

_E, E_

_Overall: E_

_Charms:_

_E, O_

_Overall: O_

_Potions:_

_E,O:_

_Overall: O_

_History of Magic:_

_D_

_Overall: D_

_Defense Against the Dark Arts:_

_O, O_

_Overall Grade: O_

_Divination:_

_A, A_

_Overall: A_

_Care of Magical Creatures:_

_E, O_

_Overall: O_

_Please inform Professor McGonagall of the subjects you wish to purse a NEWT level of education in by August 20th._

Harry smiled at his results and looked up at Ron and Hermione to see how they were reacting to theirs. Hermione looked distraught while Ron was doing his best imitation of a goldfish.

"How'd it go?" asked Harry.

"I didn't fail anything," said Ron in wonder, "and I got... somehow, I got an O in Potions!"

"Ronnie! I'm so proud of you!" cried Mrs. Weasley, bustling over to Ron to throw her arms around him.

"Ron that's wonderful!" exclaimed Hermione, distracted from her scores. "Harry?"

"I scraped by in Divination somehow - failed History of Magic. Got an O in Potions too!"

"Thank God," said Ron. "I wouldn't have taken Snape if you two weren't in it!"

"How do you know I got an O in Potions?" asked Hermione.

"Is that a serious question?" asked Ron. "we know you did great Hermione."

"I know," she said, sounding disappointed.

"So what's the matter?" asked Harry. Ginny was following the conversation with her eyes as if it were a tennis match.

"Astronomy, I-" moaned Hermione.

Ron grabbed her results from her and looked over them. "O's in literally everything but the Astronomy practical - what on earth is wrong?"

Hermione smiled in embarrassment while the rest of the table laughed.

Ginny opened her letter as the twins walked into the kitchen.

"Harry!" they said simultaneously. "How are you?"

"Oh, did OWL results come?" asked Fred with a feigned air of interest.

"Hermione, did you pass?" asked George.

"We were worried you'd follow in our footsteps, you see," continued George.

Harry watched as Ginny pulled a silver, prefect badge from her envelope. She smiled at him and tried to hide it as inconspicuously as possible.

"And Ronnie did you - Ginny! No! Not you too!" exclaimed Fred.

"What, what did Ginny do?" asked Mrs. Weasley. Spotting the Prefect badge on the table, she cried, "Ginny! That's wonderful! A Prefect? That's everyone in the family!"

"It's really starting to get old, you know?" said Fred with a sigh to Harry. Harry laughed at Fred, but couldn't help but be captivated by Ginny's smile. He could tell that she was really pleased that she had been selected as a Prefect, but didn't want the twins to know.

"Well, we'll have to go to Diagon Alley tomorrow!" said Mrs. Weasley after much fawning over the four students. "Ginny, think about what you would like for your reward."

"Can we visit your shop?" asked Ron to Fred and George.

"Of course!" said Mrs. Weasley looking fondly at the twins. Though she may have wished that they had taken their studies more seriously, she couldn't deny that they had been extraordinarily successful. She was very proud of Fred and George, she just didn't want to give Ron and Ginny any ideas!

Harry spent the rest of the day with Ron, Hermione, Ginny, and the twins, who declared that they had the day off and were going to spend it acting like students for 'old time's sake.'

Harry couldn't tear his eyes from Ginny - she was wearing a t-shirt that clunch to her athletic figure. It was giving Harry thoughts that he felt very uncomfortable having in a room with three of her brothers. Why did he have to be attracted to the youngest sister of seven? His best friend's sister! That was just off limits.

Occasionally, she would catch his eye, and he couldn't help but blush every time. Hermione kept giving him knowing looks which were confusing and uncomfortable. Why were girls so hard to figure out!

He lay in bed that night thinking about Ginny. Her laugh was infectious. Her smile lit up the whole room - it made him smile! There was no denying that she had grown up to be a beautiful girl. She had been there too - right when he woke up and broke down. She hadn't said anything about it since, but her comfort had been just what he needed. Why hadn't he noticed her before? He remembered Hermione saying that Ginny had gotten over Harry ages ago - what were the chances that she could care about him too?

And then there was the prophecy. It seemed to sneak up on Harry all too frequently now. Just when he began to feel happy, it came lurking in like a massive thundercloud encroaching on a picnic. Voldemort was after him. He was after Ginny too. And Ron, and Hermione. All of the Weasleys. He was going to get them killed if he couldn't end it. They didn't deserve to be put through that.

It was with his thoughts in turmoil that Harry fell asleep.

_Hope you're enjoying it. I welcome reviews, don't be afraid to leave them!_

_ClimbofFaith_


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